Lying
by QuidnamInferorum
Summary: The reader is sick of Dean's shit. Written for whydoyouwantmetosaymyname's 1k Follower Challenge on tumblr! Prompt was the movie Charade and the quote: "Of course you won't be able to lie on your back for a while but then you can lie from any position, can't you?"


She dropped the older Winchester harshly onto the shittiest motel bed they'd ever had the displeasure of getting their nightly four hours in.

Sam waved awkwardly from the doorway of the room and said good night, wanting nothing more than to avoid the nightmare that his brother had gotten himself into.

"Ow! Handle the goods gently, sweetheart!" Dean grumbled, being careful to not let his back hit the mattress.

She sighed heavily. "C'mon, get your shirt off, lemme see how you are."

He grinned cockily at her. "You know I'm always willing to undress for you, baby."

"Ha ha, and all I have to do is ask, right? Shut up and strip, Winchester," she grumbled. As he pulled his shirt gingerly over his head, she ran off to grab the first aid kit.

She made him lay on his front, exposing the wide expanse of his back to her. She pointedly ignored the urge to lean down and kiss every freckle, the urge to comfort him and remind him how much she loved him and was so happy he was safe and alive and still with her.

Four long but pretty shallow claw marks ran almost the entire length of his back, bisecting the scars that already littered his skin. As mad as she was at her boyfriend, no amount of anger could remove her empathy.

That being said, her anger did cloud it a bit.

"Fucking hell!" Dean shouted at the sudden contact with whiskey. "You could've warned me!"

"Baby," she stuck her tongue out at him.

His jade green eyes narrowed at her. "Are you really still mad at me?"

Her answer was her pouring more whiskey from the bottle directly onto his back.

He hissed through his teeth the mumbled, "Guess so."

She cleaned the wound as best she could before pulling out some bandages. When she finished wrapping him up (perhaps just a smidgen too tightly), she smiled innocently. "There, all better."

He winced as he sat up, but said nothing.

"Of course," she continued, studiously not looking at him as she packed up the first aid kit. "You won't be able to lie on your back for a while but then you can lie from any position, can't you?"

"Okay," he growled, turning to glare at her. "Look, I did what I had—"

"'What you had to do,'" she finished mockingly, even adding in air quotes. "Like I've never heard that before."

"Look, wendigos are scary bastards, and I couldn't risk you getting hurt."

"Oh, so, obviously, your plan of running off alone with an _empty_ flare gun was _so_ much better!"

He looked stumped for a minute. "…I didn't know it was empty."

"And," she shoved him hard for emphasis, but not enough to stress his wounds. "If you had talked to Sam or me, we could've _told_ you that that stupid hiker shot it at a squirrel earlier and nearly burned the whole forest down!"

Dean shook his head. "You and Sam needed to stay with the kids and keep them safe—"

"—which they would've been with just one of us there to keep them in the fucking circle and we wouldn't be playing Dr. Sexy right now."

Dean rolled his eyes. "C'mon, we skipped a key component of playing Dr. Sexy."

"Oh, if you think for a _second_ that you're getting laid tonight—"

He held a hand up in surrender, his other hand wrapped around his ribs and holding it.

She sighed heavily. "Are they too tight?"

"Yes."

She chuckled at that.

He shrugged, seeming to relax a little at her laughter, however small.

Y/N sighed heavily, letting her head fall onto his shoulder. "You're an asshole."

"I know."

"Like, you didn't even just sneak out, you just looked me _right in the eye_ and told me you were just going to the bathroom."

"I know."

"You lied to my fucking face."

"Pretty sure I was there."

The glare she shot him could've killed a lesser man.

The half-awkward, half-cocky smile that only Dean Winchester could pull off slide off of his face.

She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. The dirt and sweat and wendigo blood mixed in made it stick up a little like she was Alfalfa. "Dean, all I ask is that you don't lie to me. I mean...you know how I feel about lying. I don't even like pretending to be FBI."

He swallowed thickly. He nudged her shoulder with his. "I'm sorry."

"You'd do it again in a heartbeat, you dick," she groaned.

"What, go try to keep the wendigo away from you and Sammy? Hell yes."

"And you'd lie to me."

Silence covered them, the weight of it making them both slump forward a bit.

Finally, his calloused hand sought out hers. "Sweetheart, I just...I get crazy when I think of losing one of you two."

"And you think the idea doesn't scare the hell out of us? What do you think would happen if something happened to you, Dean? We wouldn't be able to cope, and you know it."

He licked his lips, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and worrying the flesh for a moment. "I can't let you two get hurt."

"Then you stay with his, keep us safe. Don't go running off," she argued. "Because you know what happens? Sam and I drop everything and run blindly to save you."

He nodded, silently working through the logic. "Okay. I'll try."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, we'll have to work on that."

His arm came up to wrap around her shoulders, but his back muscles fought him on that. So, instead, she maneuvered herself into his arms, wrapping his arm around her waist. He seemed to relax at the simple contact like he always did.

She then cupped his face, forcing him to look her in the eye. "And," she added. "You ever lie to me again, I'll cut your balls off in your sleep."

"I love you too, sweetheart."


End file.
